(by Peter McKenna, copyright 2000, all rights reserved)

I got ready for bed at the usual time. At fifteen, I am no longer filled with excitement on Xmas eve. I put on my sleep outfit; dark green, heavy cotton shorts and an oversized, long sleeved, maroon pullover of the same material. I crawled into bed, fluffed the pillows and pulled the covers up over my head. In a few minutes, sleep overtook me.

I woke suddenly, not knowing what time it was. There was a man in my room, a big guy, old enough to have white hair and beard. This is ridiculous, was my first thought. He came over to the side of my bed and ripped the covers off. Except that he was smiling and looked friendly enough, I might have been frightened.

"Your wearing my colors," he observed.

"The shirt's maroon," I countered.

"That's a kind of red," he said, dismissing my objection. He sat down next to me. "Anyway, let's get it off. Sit up."

I did and he took the material from the bottom and pulled it upward. To help out, I raised my arms, sort of crookedy, over my head. He yanked it off my arms and tossed it aside.

"I've heard that you've been a very good boy this year," he commented. He didn't seem to expect a response, so I said nothing.

Putting a hand on my chest, he pushed me back onto my pillow, firmly but not roughly. "Raise your bum," he instructed. I did, and he slipped my shorts down my legs and off my feet. They joined my shirt somewhere on the floor.

"Nice," he noted. "Turn over."

I did. There followed a minute of silence. I suppose that he was just looking. Then he gave me a playful slap on the butt and said, "I wish I had more time, but it's a busy night. Turn over again."

When I had done so, he took a blue ribbon from one of his pockets and deftly tied a handsome bow around my right ankle. To this he attached a tag of some sort.

"Get up and into the sack," he ordered. He rose first and held open the top of a large burlap bag he apparently had brought for this purpose. "Sit down," he told me as I stepped into it.

I sat and felt the sack and myself hoisted. There followed some rather rough bumps, though I don't know what from. Though I did know they weren't so bad that I would be bruised. Then I and the sack were plopped down and I felt motions that included swaying side to side as well as moving backward. From this, I deduced that I was facing opposite our direction of travel.

I became aware of cold air seeping though the loose weave of the burlap. Also, it felt coarse against my skin, not unlike the rasp of a man's beard. Whatever the surface was underneath the sack and that I was sitting on, it was hard. In other words, I was uncomfortable. So I didn't get any rest, much less sleep, during the trip.

Fortunately the rocking, bucking motions stopped before I got sick. That would have been a mess. I felt myself lifted once again and there was another series of bumps on the way somewhere. The oversized bag and I were set down. It was a brief respite. Almost immediately the sack was upended. I rolled out and across the carpeted floor, ending up, a little dazed, on my back underneath your decorated tree.

I gazed up through the branches at the lights and ornaments and breathed deep the smell of spruce. I figured I had a long wait before the sun rose and you would come down to find your gift. I thought about what you always do with something new. How you look it all over and make sure all its parts work. I didn't think I would sleep from the excitement. But staring at the lights and ornaments above me was a little hypnotic.

I dozed off from time to time, waking to imagine the expression on your face when you would find me there. How you would look at the tag that read, "Love from Santa." How you would pull me out from under the tree. I looked up through the branches at the lights and the ornaments and the reflections of the lights on the ornaments. I smelled the piney scent of the tree and dozed again, waiting, waiting for you.